


Parental Guidance Not Recommended

by ProseApothecary



Category: Crashing (UK TV)
Genre: Angst (kinda) and Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Meeting the Family, Sam manages to be family friendly for an entire half-hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23835799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: “This is a bad idea,” Sam says, for possibly the 11th time that morning. He readjusts his button-up in the mirror before gesturing to himself. “Thisis not meant for parental viewing.”“You’ll be fine,” Fred says, kicking his heels against the bed. “Just don’t use any of your nicknames for me. And don’t talk about how porn is killing sex. Or the fact that you and Lulu had a thing. Do not bring up that I skipped work for you. Definitely skip the risqué jokes. Don’t bring out your Indian accent. Oh, and don’t mentionhowme and Will broke up.”“Fuck me,” Sam says to the universe in general.“And definitely don’t say that,” Fred adds helpfully. “But apart from that, just be yourself.”
Relationships: Anthony & Sam & Fred & Kate & Lulu & Melody, Fred Patini/Sam
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	Parental Guidance Not Recommended

“You know, traditionally the couch seats three people. Sometimes even four.”

Sam throws a cushion at Anthony before laying back down to rest his head in the crook of Fred’s neck.

“We can move up,” says Fred, nudging his foot against Sam’s.

“No we can’t. Fred had a hypo. He needs his rest.”

“I told you, it wasn’t a hypo. I was just napping.”

Sam props his head up on his elbow and looks at Fred. “What is the point of you having a medical condition if you’re not even going to exploit it?”

“Don’t know,” says Fred. “I’ll ask my GP.”

Anthony unceremoniously turns on the TV and squeezes onto the couch beside them, sitting on Sam’s feet in the process.

“ _Ow_. You know if you could be a little less comfortable with our relationship, that would be great,” Sam says.

“I’ll try my best,” Anthony says, switching channels.

“Oh,” says Fred, as _Geordie Shore_ comes up onscreen. “My cue to leave.”

Sam gives him puppy-dog eyes, and makes no attempt to move off him.

“Fine,” says Fred. “But you’re watching Bake-Off with me next time it’s on.”

Sam has cried at every episode of Bake-Off they’ve watched together. He is getting increasingly unwilling to watch it.

He narrows his eyes. “Fine.”

Fred, still sleepy, finds himself drifting off.

By the time he wakes up, he finds Lulu has curled up on top of them. Kate and Melody are perched on the sofa armrests, arguing about the artistic merits of reality TV while Anthony periodically shushes them.

Fred hasn’t had friendships like these before. Friendships that you don’t have to try with. Friendships that are so _comfortable_.

“Fred,” Sam pinches his arm as soon as he realises he’s awake. “Lulu’s trying to seduce me through smothering. Aren’t you going to defend my honour?”

“Sh,” mumbles Lulu. “You love it.” She pinches Fred’s cheek. “You both totally love it.”

Honestly, Fred kinda does. And he _knows_ Sam does. He eats up affection with a fervour that’s only heightened since he and Fred went public, all the more grateful for being surprised by it.

Fred _really_ wants to keep that momentum going.

“This is a bad idea,” Sam says, for possibly the 11th time that morning. He readjusts his button-up in the mirror before gesturing to himself. “ _This_ is not meant for parental viewing.”

“You’ll be fine,” Fred says, kicking his heels against the bed. “Just don’t use _any_ of your nicknames for me. And don’t talk about how porn is killing sex. Or the fact that you and Lulu had a thing. Do not bring up that I skipped work for you. Definitely skip the risqué jokes. Don’t bring out your Indian accent. Oh, and don’t mention _how_ me and Will broke up.”

“Fuck me,” Sam says to the universe in general.

“And definitely don’t say that,” Fred adds helpfully. “But apart from that, just be yourself.” He gives Sam a warm smile. Sam meets it with an incredulous look.

“Maybe you should take Anthony instead. I’ve always wanted to be Irish.”

“Funny,” says Fred, “I’ve always wanted you to be Irish too.”

Sam gives him a Displeased look.

“Joking,” says Fred. “That was a joke. Besides, my mum probably couldn’t understand a word Anthony says, so, you know, all for the best, really.”

_A small mercy, really,_ Sam thinks as Fred’s mother, Kaia, icily watches him dish up a single spoon of salad.

He adds two more to be safe.

“So,” Kaia asks, “What do you do?”

“Real estate agent.”

“In this housing bubble?”

“Mm. Well, that’s why I keep a spare key to the mansions.”

Fred’s sister, Rebecca, smiles. Fred laughs a little too hard.

“He’s _really_ good at what he does,” Fred says.

“Ironic,” Kaia says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “for a real estate agent to live in a squat.”

“Not a squat.” Fred says. “And we _both_ live there.”

“Right,” says Kaia, “just if you’re planning on having kids-”

“We’re not.”

“-then a disused hospital may not be ideal. Don’t you think?”

There’s a brief pause.

“I think the leftover sedatives would be a _big_ help.” Sam jumps in.

Kaia raises an eyebrow.

“Mum’s a teacher,” Rebecca says, “so I think she agrees with you.”

“Teaching,” says Sam, because no one else is saying anything, “that must be rewarding.” _That’s the kind of shit you’re supposed to say to your future mother-in-law, right?_

“I like helping children make the right decisions. Even if I can’t always manage that with my own.”

The scrape of Fred’s chair draws Sam’s eye. Sam watches his hands unclench and cutlery drop to the table. “Thanks for dinner. But I think that’s our cue to leave.”

Sam drops his fork and follows Fred out. “Um. Right. Thank you?”

Sam tries to keep up with Fred as he strides down the wet streets, wondering exactly how fucked he is in all of this.

Sam puts a hand on Fred’s shoulder. When he turns, Sam can see his eyes are red-rimmed.

_Oh fuck._

“Sorry,” says Sam. “Sorry. It turns out I might be incapable of being serious, ever.”

“Oh my God. You didn’t do anything wrong. She’s like this with every boyfriend I’ve ever had. I should’ve warned you. Somehow I thought that maybe this time, she would see that I was actually _happy,_ and…” he trails off.

Sam smiles, despite everything.

Fred looks down. “There’s a hotel here, a couple of doors down.”

“Sounds good,” says Sam, trying to stop smiling, since it’s really, vastly inappropriate for the situation.

But Fred looks up at him, and he smiles too.

“It’s really not you,” Fred says later, when they’re curled up in a King-sized bed. “When Dad died, it was a struggle. Made her paranoid about us being safe. And provided-for. It’s not an excuse, but-”

“Got it,” Sam says. “Does she want me to be a doctor or a lawyer?”

“CEO who works seven days a week and still wants eight children. I would not survive.”

Sam grins.

Fred’s phone pings. He raises an eyebrow as he checks it. “…Wow.”

“What?”

“My sister’s just checking we’re not sleeping on the streets. And she, uh, votes yes on keeping you around.”

Sam leans over, resting his head on Fred’s shoulder to read the screen.

_New boyfriend has a sense of humour._

_Also hot enough to make my plus-ones jealous._

_Feel free to bring him to all future family reunions._

“Sounds like more of a yes please.”

Fred rolls his eyes, but he quickly turns bashful. “We could stick around. Tomorrow, I could show you my old school and the park and…that’s pretty much everything they have here. But we could do the tour. If you wanted.”

Sam beams. Those are the settings for 90% of Fred’s embarrassing childhood stories.

“Yes please.”


End file.
